


After the Fires Are Burnt

by Batsutousai



Series: Book of Jealousy [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Agender Character, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Envy as Maes Hughes, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Ephebophilia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rough Sex, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 15:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14452713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: Envy hadn't really expected that killing that nosey lieutenant colonel would result in such an easy target, but who are they to refuse the chance to get secrets from the Flame Colonel and show Lust up? And if they messed with the man's head a bit in the process, well...the more broken the sacrifice candidates were, the less likely they'd fight, right?





	After the Fires Are Burnt

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the series of fics where Envy gleefully breaks our main boys. XD
> 
> Joking aside, please, _please_ mind the warnings. I don't care if people comment for the sheer purpose of telling me how much of a sick fuck I am, tbh, so long as everyone's handling their own mental health responsibly.
> 
> This one ended up hurting in a slightly different way from _Choke on Your Halo_. Probably because Roy is already a little broken during this part of canon, and Envy isn't the one who makes the first move.

Wandering around Central Command and the Investigations building in a body that was close enough to the late Hughes to make people do a double-take, and then changing their face to _actually_ look like Hughes near the people who were most obviously mourning him, was probably the most fun Envy'd had in...a while. Since they'd so completely fucked with the Fullmetal runt.

Of course, once the Flame Colonel was officially transferred to Central, Envy found a _truly_ excellent target. Because they hadn't really thought about how close Hughes must have been to Mustang to be ringing him with his treason, or even really cared that humans tended to get attached in pairs – troublesome for them, when one of them died – but the look on Mustang's face the first time Envy made him think he'd seen Hughes?

Oh, it was _delicious_. It was all the agony of the Ishvalans painted across a single face. It was the horror Fullmetal had worn when Envy and Lust had killed Number 48, or the betrayal when Envy'd come to torment him with his precious girlfriend's face.

It was, best of all, the hopelessness on that nosy traitor's face, the moment he found his wife holding the gun that ended his life.

Envy wanted _more_.

-0-

If Envy was being honest, the last thing they'd expected, was for Mustang to retire to a pub immediately after work. Everything they knew about the man – not that much, admittedly, beyond the rumours that ' _everyone_ ' knew – suggested he would have found a pretty woman, charmed her until she was putty in his hands, and then taken her home to fuck until they'd both collapsed. (Bonus points if the charming happened in front of her boyfriend/fiancé/husband, and she broke it off with him the next day.)

That said, a pub wasn't a terrible place to find a partner, Envy supposed, and humans _did_ seem to enjoy that fermented cat piss, for reasons they didn't begin to understand, so perhaps Mustang was, as the saying went, 'killing two birds with a single stone'. (Envy, personally, preferred killing the whole flock with a single arm, but humans weren't quite as elastic as they were. Poor, pathetic creatures.)

They settled in to wait outside, intending to startle Mustang while he was high off getting a woman to take home, maybe scare the woman off, ruin his night a bit. (A _lot_ , if they could get the colonel to make that face again.)

Except, an hour passed, and there was still no sign of Mustang. Annoyed, and contemplating just bringing the human's house down on his head if it turned out he'd snuck out the back, Envy shoved their way into the pub and scanned the smoky room.

Mustang was actually fairly easy to spot, in the end, slumped forward over the bar with a tumbler mostly full of liquid held in one hand. He was in his shirtsleeves, his military jacket saved from a fatal meeting with the floor by a corner being caught under the human's arse, and didn't even raise his head at the faint jingle of the door upon Envy's entrance; even the other three, clearly drunk, patrons managed that much.

He looked _pathetic_. The lowest of the low of human dirt.

Somehow, Envy managed to keep their absolute glee off their face as they started towards the bar. If Mustang was as far gone as he looked, how would he react to Envy's stolen appearance? Would he even realise Hughes was dead? Or would he forget for the night and tell Envy _everything_?

(Ha! Wouldn't that be the absolute best way to get Lust back for all her comments about their appearance? She was so intent on getting that second lieutenant who always had a cigarette in his mouth to spill Mustang's plans, and Envy had found themself faced with the dog at the top of the pile!)

"Roy," they said to announce their presence, remembering that that was what Hughes had – apparently reflexively – called Mustang when his call had first connected to the switchboard in East City. (If this conversation went on too long, they could only hope the alcohol had pickled whatever intelligence Mustang had enough that he wouldn't notice any odd behaviour. They had been lucky with Fullmetal, the runt having been too embarrassed when he'd have been sane enough to catch any acting slips.)

Mustang's head flopped over on the bar top, and bleary eyes squinted out at them from behind drooping bangs. "Hughes," he rasped, and then put on an absolutely _beautiful_ broken smile. "You're dead."

So, he wasn't so far gone to forget that fact. Well, Envy could still work with this, and they sat down next to the pathetic worm and attempted a smile, hoped it was more 'happy to see you again' than 'I'm cackling at your agony on the inside'. "Yes," they agreed. 

Mustang snorted and his eyes closed. "You and Fullmetal," he mumbled. "Only two people I know obnoxious enough to annoy me even when you're dead."

That was...a curious thing to say to a friend. Definitely true about Fullmetal, though. Or, well, it _had_ been true; Envy suspected the runt was far less lively, now.

"Figures," Mustang added, before tilting his head just enough to take a drink of whatever liquid was in his tumbler. It looked sort of reddish-brown, in the low light of the pub, but Envy didn't actually know enough about human poison to know what that might be, so they shrugged it off.

"What are you doing, Roy?" Envy asked, hopefully open-ended enough that the pathetic fool would tell them _everything_.

(Oh, the rewards Father would give them for completing Lust's mission. And the glares Lust would shoot them; Envy could already taste the sweet victory of her defeat on their tongue.)

"Drinking," Mustang said, and Envy resisted the urge to snarl at him, while the human stared at his tumbler for a long moment, before glancing towards Envy. "Waiting for you."

Envy blinked. "What?" they asked, thrown; Mustang knew Hughes was dead, but he'd still been waiting for them to show up?

For one worrying moment, Mustang put on a smile that lit up his expression, made him look far too aware, too far from the levels of intoxication that would make him malleable.

And then his smile dimmed, and his eyes fell shut. "Saw you. Wandering Command. Hawkeye said I was insane, said to her I was gonna– _going to_ get drunk until I knew for sure."

The quick correction of his slurring should have been worrying, but then he knocked back his tumbler, all in one go, and raised it towards the barkeep, who came over to refill it from a fancy-looking, rectangular glass bottle on one of the top shelves. "Anything for you, chap?" he asked Envy.

Envy almost refused – all the human poison had ever done for them was cause their innate healing to tickle the inside of their throat and unsettle their stomach until it was gone, but that smile had thrown them off a bit, so they nodded and said, "What he's having."

The barkeep poured a generous portion from the same bottle and passed the tumbler to Envy, then walked back down the bar to the conversation he'd been interrupted from.

Envy took a sip, grimaced at the taste, then at the activation of their healing following the liquid down their throat and into their belly; definitely alcohol, then. "I'm sure," they said, hopefully hiding their discomfort at everything going on internally, "that's not healthy."

"Or scientifically sound," Mustang informed them, staring at his refilled tumbler. "Surprised she didn't shoot me."

Envy grunted at that, didn't know enough about the colonel's blonde woman to have a comment.

Mustang glanced over at them, eyes full of hope. "So, did'ja– _did you_ come here to haunt me forever?"

"No," Envy replied, and had to bite back a smile at the way Mustang's face fell. "I'm only here long enough to say a proper goodbye." That was a thing humans liked, right? Closure?

Mustang gave a slow blink. "Ah," he said, before blinking again, then sitting up a bit and shaking his head. "Proper goodbye," he repeated, before shaking his head again and looking at Envy. " 'Ow long're– _How long are_ you allowed to stay? Can you stay. How do you get permission to leave the afterlife? Do you just walk up to a god or something and say, 'Hi, I've been a good person and I jest– _just_ really need to say'–"

"Roy," Envy interrupted, annoyed at the babbling, especially since it didn't help them with what they'd come for. "I have until dawn." That should be enough time. They _hoped_.

(If not, they really _would_ pull the pathetic human's house down on his head, right after they'd walked him home.)

"Until dawn," Mustang repeated, enunciating carefully, as though that would help him remember it better or some nonsense. He nodded and curled forward over the bar a bit, either unaware or unconcerned that the movement finally freed his jacket to slide to the floor with the faint click of his rank stars. He stared down into his tumbler, for all the world having forgotten Envy was there.

Clenching their fists against the urge to just beat on the Flame Alchemist until he gave up all his secrets, Envy cleared their throat, then leant forward against the bar a bit themself, asking, "So, what are you up to without me?"

Mustang turned his head slightly, shooting Envy a confused look. "You don't know?"

"It doesn't work that way," Envy insisted, doing their best to make that sound like fact, rather than an admittance that they weren't actually a deceased Hughes come back to check on Mustang.

Mustang hummed, though, and nodded, turning back to his tumbler and taking a quick sip. As the glass touched the wood of the bar again, he said, "I'm avenging you."

"Avenging me," Envy repeated blandly.

Mustang nodded again. "Have to find your killer," he agreed. "Take them out." And then he turned and pinned Envy with another one of those too-sharp looks, trying so hard to give lie to his obvious drunkenness. "Can you tell me who it was?"

Envy cleared their throat, trying to think of a way to avoid having to answer that, before it occurred to them: "I can only tell you things you already know."

Mustang's shoulders slumped and he turned back to his tumbler, knocking back what was left again – at least half the glass – and slamming it back down against the bar top.

(Envy's insides churned in sympathy, and they mentally snarled at them to piss off.)

"How are Gracia and Elicia?" Mustang asked, before letting out a bitter laugh and quickly continuing, "No, I know you can't tell me." He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, while Envy looked on with a frown, confused. "I haven't gone to see them. I can't– I–" He drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, almost like–

Mustang reached out one hand to grab his tumbler and raise it towards the barkeep again, the other hand still pressed against his face, and Envy spotted the glimmer of liquid on the colonel's face.

Something ballooned in their chest, an improbable mess of glee and regret and anger. The first because they'd brought the Flame Colonel to _actual tears_ , but the rest...

Ah, Envy realised as the barkeep started towards them at last, and Mustang set his tumbler back down on the bar so he could take a quick swipe at his face, they were angry because this was what they _hadn't_ got from the Fullmetal runt. A brief mention of a couple women – Hughes' wife and daughter, they expected – got tears from this grown human, but their worst hadn't got anything more than a blank stare from the shrimp. Had they, perhaps, just not tried hard enough?

"Last one, man," the barkeep said as he pulled the bottle down to refill Mustang's tumbler. "You wanna case of alcohol poisoning, find another pub." He looked at Envy as he set the now-filled glass down in front of Mustang. "Better yet, you should probably just take him home."

"Of course," Envy agreed, because they still had plenty of answers to drag from Mustang, and perhaps the pathetic human would have a looser tongue in his home.

The barkeep walked away with a nod, and Envy turned back to Mustang, only to find him watching them with a frown. "What?" they demanded, probably a little too harshly, but too late to correct it, now. (Hopefully, Mustang was too drunk to notice.)

"Taking me home," Mustang said, sounding oddly distant. "Until dawn."

Envy's frown deepened, and they barely kept from scowling.

"The rules have changed," Mustang said, clearly to himself, before mostly focussing his eyes on Envy. "Why are you here? With _me_?" he asked, enunciating very carefully, as though being understood was the most important thing to him in that moment. "Why not with Gracia?"

That was a worryingly astute question, given the circumstances. Luckily, their surroundings gave Envy the perfect excuse, and they drily replied, "She's not the one attempting to poison herself."

Mustang let out a rough laugh at that, shot his full tumbler a glance, then shook his head and twisted to the side, hopping off the stool and holding tight to the edge of the bar to keep from falling over.

Envy blinked at that, thrown – the human didn't want his refilled drink? – before shaking themself and hopping down to collect Mustang's abandoned jacket before he forgot it or, worse, attempted to pick it up himself and cracked his head in the process.

As they stood, an arm came to rest around Envy's waist, and they turned to stare at Mustang as his head dropped to their shoulder. "Take me home, Maes," Mustang mumbled, and then kissed Envy's neck.

This was an...interesting turn of events.

"Of course," Envy offered in response, voice low, as they wrapped their own arm back around Mustang.

They had looked up Mustang's address pretty much as soon as he'd bought a place – knowing their sacrifice candidates' whereabouts was always important, especially when troublesome factors like that scarred man popped up – and it wasn't far from the pub Mustang had chosen, which made it easier for Envy to escort the colonel home without just bodily picking him up and carrying him.

Mustang nearly fumbled his keys at the door, but managed to get them into the lock and turn it over on the second attempt, then led Envy into the small, two-floor townhouse he'd bought, which was situated in an area that military officers often picked, especially those without families.

The place, Envy saw as they were practically _dragged_ up to the bedroom, was sparsely furnished. A worn couch and a battered coffee table in the living room, a battered little table in the hall with a phone on it, no sign of pictures on the walls, like most humans seemed to like. The bedroom, too, had only a bed with white sheets, the built-in clothing cupboard cracked open to show a hint of military blue; extra uniforms.

Mustang really _was_ a pathetic creature, wasn't he?

Practically as soon as he was through the bedroom doorway, Mustang was shrugging out of his shirt – Envy hadn't actually noticed him unbuttoning it, too distracted by looking around, and they silently berated themself for that – and letting it crumple to the ground. And then he turned towards Envy, revealing that his belt and flies were already undone, leaving his trousers loose.

For a desk-sitter, Mustang was unusually fit, at least so far as Envy's experience went. Which wasn't a _bad_ thing, because Envy much preferred their partners to be on the thinner side, though it probably could have faked interest just for the sheer pleasure in using Mustang's dead friend's form to fuck him, but it seemed they wouldn't need that.

Good.

Mustang started going after Envy's shirt, and they tossed Mustang's jacket to the floor – his uniform was clearly not a priority, and far be it from Envy to help a human look good for their superiors – then started 'helping', stepping forward and running their hands up Mustang's arms, over his shoulders, down his chest.

Mustang shivered and leant into the touch, eyes going half-lidded, and he murmured, "Maes. Missed you. I need–"

"I know," Envy promised, because there were only so many things humans wanted once they'd got this far, and they didn't need to actually _be_ Hughes to know _exactly_ how to 'help' Mustang.

(And, once he'd passed out, Envy would have unfettered access to his entire _house_. They'd find the information they wanted, one way or another.)

Mustang's smile was both grateful and heartbroken, and then he turned and led the way to the bed, shedding the last of his clothing on the way. There was apparently lube in the side table, because he pulled it out while Envy divested themselves of the last of their clothing, then climbed onto the bed on all fours, arse presented towards Envy and lube left within their easy grasp.

Envy allowed themself a wide smirk, since Mustang wasn't looking, and stepped up behind him, running their hands over Mustang's rear and delighting in his moan, the way he pressed back like he was seeking _more contact_.

It was heady, this sort of power over a person, and Envy just want to forego the lubricant and fuck the human raw, leave him a bleeding, ruined _mess_ sprawled across his bedclothes.

Except there were rules they had to follow, and leaving one of their sacrifice candidates with internal bleeding for their own pleasure was one of the 'do not's on the list. (Well, not _actually_ on the list, because Envy didn't usually damage their toys – that had always been Greed's naughty habit – but it was implied. Also, such an action chanced Mustang becoming suspicious and digging a little too deep, and Father would be _most_ displeased if they had to kill another sacrifice candidate because Envy hadn't been able to control themself.)

So Envy picked up the little bottle and opened it, letting the oil flow out over their fingers. They closed the bottle and dropped it back onto the bed, then started preparing the human, ran their free hand over the skin of Mustang's rear, because humans _liked_ that sort of thing, that stroking, petting, _contact_ nonsense.

Mustang kept making little noises of pleasure, half-muffled against his own arm, and occasionally would say Hughes' name, clearly intended as a plea to spur Envy on.

Envy might not be allowed to leave Mustang a bleeding mess, but they _could_ prepare him just _barely_ enough, make sure there was no way the pathetic little human could forget, come morning, that he'd been buggered by a _ghost_. So they did, pulling out their fingers a little sooner than was wise and slicking themself up – they didn't have measurements for Hughes, but Mustang clearly wasn't paying attention to that – then pushing into Mustang's entrance roughly.

Mustang cried out, scrabbling at his sheets, and Envy almost expected him to pull away, but _no_. Mustang pushed _back_ , impaling himself further on Envy's cock with a whimper and a broken, " _Please_. I need y-you hah-hard."

_Well_ then.

Envy grabbed the human's hips in a grip meant to bruise and started fucking him as hard as they could. And Mustang clawed at his sheets, sobbing out broken, often half-formed words: Hughes' name, apologies, pleas for more and harder, curses, and, most interesting of all, the _shrimp's code name_.

(What Envy wouldn't give to discover the truth behind _that_ little slip of the tongue.)

Envy was the one to release first, shoving as deep as they could go and shooting their spend into Mustang.

They wondered, once their orgasm high had settled them back in their borrowed skin, if all the alcohol had left Mustang unable to get it up. But, when they reached around to the front of the human, they found Mustang's cock heavy and leaking.

Mustang whimpered, pushing back against Envy's cock still inside him. "Please. Maes, _please_."

Envy didn't really care what the human was begging for this time, but they knew what _they_ wanted. So they pulled out, ignoring Mustang's sob, then shoved the human over, onto his back.

Mustang's face was damp with tears, snot running from his nose, and twisted with something so utterly _broken_ , Envy had to bite back a vicious grin.

Mustang didn't try hiding his state, just stared up at Envy, arms flopped uselessly to either side of him. When Envy squeezed his cock, however, Mustang came _alive_ , arching off the bed and squeezing his eyes shut, freeing two fresh tears to track down the sides of his face.

"Should I let you come, Roy?" Envy breathed, ringing their fingers at the base of the human's cock, then thumbing at his slit.

Mustang cried out again, arms raising as he grabbed desperately for the sheets, and legs opening further, like he was some sort of _slut_.

Envy _loved it_.

"P-p-please," Mustang gasped out, hazy eyes opening and staring beseechingly up at Envy. "M-Maes, p–"

"Tell me what you've discovered about my murder," Envy purred, because there would never be a better chance to get information from the man.

"N-no-thing!" Mustang sobbed, so bitter and broken, there was no way he could have been lying. "I'm s-sorry. I'm sorry!"

Well, that was useful to know. It didn't mean Mustang _wouldn't_ discover something, in future, but at least it meant Lust wasn't getting anything because there wasn't anything to get. A shame – Envy would much rather have preferred to have something useful to report – but more than they'd expected to get.

That said...

"Tell me about Ed," they ordered. "You were calling his name."

Mustang gasped in a breath and seemed to pale a bit, despite the flush of arousal splashed across his cheeks. "F-Fullm-metal?" he stammered, shaking his head.

Envy dug their nail into Mustang's slit, and the human cried out, hips thrusting up, as though he thought that would help dislodge Envy's fingers wrapped tight around the base of his cock.

" _Roy_ ," Envy said harshly.

Mustang looked away, then, eyes squeezing shut. "I sh-shouldn't. He's a b- _boy_. But I-I w-want to k-kiss hi-im," he managed to stutter out, tears leaking from his eyes again.

Oh, this was _precious_. Mustang wanted to fuck the little Fullmetal brat, and he was _beating himself up about it_.

They knelt on the edge of the bed and leant forward, breathing against Mustang's ear, "Roy, you're _sick_."

Mustang sobbed and nodded, trying to hide his face against his arm, and mouthing something that was, probably, another apology.

Envy smirked, wide and cruel, and let their tongue lengthen just a bit, licking along the edge of Mustang's ear, then breathed, "Are you imagining him, _Colonel_? The rage in his eyes, the fall of golden hair across your pillow, the way his _trust_ will just _fall apart_."

" _No_ ," Mustang breathed.

Envy let go of the base of Mustang's cock and gave it one good pump as they changed their voice to the shrimp's and said, "You are, Colonel."

Mustang came with a wretched sob, utterly _perfect_ in his euphoric misery.

Envy couldn't have asked for a better end to the night, and they pulled away, wiping their hand on Mustang's sheets. "I'm _ashamed_ of you, Roy," they said, shaking their head.

Mustang's only response was to twist and bury the ruins of his expression in his arms, gasping on his own sobs.

Envy patted themself on the back and quit Mustang's house, as pleased as anything.

Perhaps they would visit Mustang as the Fullmetal shrimp, next time they heard he was drowning his sorrows again. Wouldn't that be _delicious_.

.


End file.
